Max hummed in agreement, his gaze distant. “I think that realizing your parents are flawed and fallible is the mark of a grown-up.”
She turned back to Max at that, considering both him and his words for a moment. “No,” she finally said. “But I think forgiving them for being flawed and fallible might be.”
That made Max blink. He looked at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable.
“I don’t understand how you can think you’re not clever and then say something like that,” he told her, shaking his headin amazement. “Do you even hear yourself? Only an observant person would say something that simple but true.”
Bo felt something warm bloom inside of her, and she gave a small and disbelieving laugh. “You really think that?”
“I don’t just think it, I know it.” His tone was certain but gentle, and for a heartbeat too long, he didn’t look away from her, and the warmth in Bo’s chest spread to her cheeks. “It’s late.” Max suddenly added. “Are you tired or . . . ?”
Or.
Inexplicably, Bo felt a sudden flair of panic. Max was looking at her with those wide eyes of his, his gaze full of meaning, and once again she realized just how much she liked him. She liked the way he thought and the way he talked and even the way he looked, she realized. She liked everything about him, in fact.
Which wasn’t ideal, was it? Not when they had their arrangement, an arrangement Max had every intention of sticking to. At the end of the summer, he fully intended on returning to Berlin and his life andother sexual partners,which left her where exactly? Heartbroken once again, most likely, and back to the square one Oliver had left her in not two years earlier with a vengeance. Bo had enough self-awareness to understand this. She also had enough of a sense of self-preservation to understand that she needed to get off this rollercoaster ride to heartbreak now, even if she was immensely enjoying the ride. She knew that Max’s “or” was just a polite way of asking if she was DTF (which she was, who was she kidding?) and while it was tempting — so, so tempting — to say yes, her crumbling common sense pulled itself together just enough so that she could shake her head and decline.
“Thanks, but I’m tired,” she said. “I’m going to go to bed.”
Max nodded, giving her a long look, and Bo tried not to blush in front of him. God, she really was the worst actress in the world. She knew she was lying, Max knew she was lying,every inanimate fucking brick in Geoffrey’s house knew she was lying, and yet here they were, nodding away like she hadn’t just given a performance worthy of a nomination in the worst actress category of the Razzie awards.
Still, Max said nothing, bending to lightly kiss her cheek goodnight. She could feel his eyes on her back as she made her way through the gate towards her garden, and by the time she reached her summer house, her heart was pounding, she felt slightly sick, and worst of all, she was still unbelievably turned on.
What are you doing?Boasked herself in disbelief.She and Max had an arrangement; there was nothing wrong in shagging whenever they both saw fit.
Except that the arrangement was meant to be casual, wasn’t it? The arrangement was meant to be easy. The arrangement would work fine when it was two indifferent adults with chemistry having a bit of fun. Unfortunately for her, Bo was honest enough with herself to admit that where Max was concerned now, indifference had long been thrown out the window. Their arrangement might have been solid in Max’s still nonchalant eyes, but for Bo, wholikedMax (and ugh, she really, really liked him, like more than she’d even liked Zayn Malik back in her 1D fandom days, and she’d once bought an eyelash that was purported to be his on eBay) their arrangement was as solid as a house made of jelly built on the crumbling cliff edge of a volcano.
Under normal circumstances, Bo would call Willa, and under normal circumstances, Willa would give Bo sage advice which Bo would ignore until weeks later, when she’d realize too late how apt and correct her friend had been. However, Bo and Willa weren’t speaking right now, and even if they were, Willa was thirty-odd thousand feet above the Atlantic, rushing to towards her own bad decision-making. Once again, a grim kindof nausea gripped Bo when she recalled their earlier argument. She hadn’t meant to be so sharp, just as she hadn’t meant to sound so judgemental. God knew she wasn’t anyone to criticise others for their romantic missteps. Willa’s rushing after Berg once again though . . . it was a misstep, and Bo knew it was. She’d seen Willa patch Berg up too many times already, seen her cry over him too many times, and she just wanted her best friend to be okay. The thought of Willa hurting once again because of that stubborn, beautiful and self-destructive man made Bo’s stomach twist.
Bo sighed, rubbing her temple. She’d already left Willa about a dozen voicemails, but the temptation to call her again was strong. Willa was her best friend in the world, and she loved her dearly. But what could she say that wouldn’t sound likeI told you soorplease don’t do this to yourself again?
For a moment, Bo stood there, missing her friend, as well as her friend’s advice, because for once, Bo would have to work something out on her own. For once, she would have to make her own decision. The thing was, in her heart of hearts, she already knew the answer to the problem she was puzzling out: she had to end it. She didn’t want to be like Willa, caught in a perpetual cycle of hurt. Willa was in too deep with Berg, and Bo knew she was on her way to being in too deep with Max. Unlike Willa though, Bo could still get out.
She liked Max. She really did. She liked him, and she liked sleeping with him too. She thought she could handle a relationship that was based purely on sex with him. When they’d first started this, and she hadn’t known him as she did now, that seemed fine to her. It would be an easy, no-strings arrangement with multiple orgasms provided by a man she was inexplicably attracted to. Simple.
It wasn’t so simple now though. Not when she was learning about Max and liking the things she learned. Max had heart andintelligence, just as he had ethics and morals. He was measured and witty and far too easy to talk to. He was passionate and talented and there were hidden depths to him she wanted to explore. She wanted him not just in her body but also in her soul and that was the trouble, wasn’t it? She was letting him get too close. Letting him get too deep.
Suddenly, without a doubt, Bo knew that while Beethoven might have been deaf, there was no way in hell he’d stayed a virgin. Like Max, he was a passionate, talented and intense musician. There was no way that guy had trouble getting laid. None whatsoever.
There was nothing else for it, Bo decided. She would have to end it. She felt slightly sick thinking about it, but she knew it wasn’t half as sick as she would feel when Max inevitably walked away, his conscience clear and needs temporarily sated. He was going back to Berlin. He was going back to other women. Bo needed to get out now while she still could. Before she got any more attached.
Resolved, she immediately left her summer house and headed up the path to the house, determined to end it now as kindly and cleanly as she could. The sooner she ripped the Band-Aid off the better for them both. She would let Max know plainly that she just wasn’t cut out for it. That she couldn’t be the woman he needed.
She knocked on the door, but not for long. Piano notes were ringing out in the air, the tune sad, almost mournful, and Bo listened for a moment, her stomach twisting with something that might have been longing but also encompassed sadness and regret. She opened the door without hesitating, following the sound of the piano to Geoffrey’s study, where she stood for a moment in the doorway, watching Max play.
From here, she could see how animated his body became as his fingers moved rapidly across the keys. His arms sweptwide, while his back both arched and then hunched as the music needed it. There was a sway to his body that was beautiful, and at one point he threw his head back, eyes closed, as though possessed by something unseen. The sight of him stole both the breath and resolve from Bo’s body, and it was the music, the wretchedly wonderful music, that made her step forward, inching closer to both the piano and the man who played it so achingly well. Max was feeling the music, entirely lost to it, his hands and body not his own, and all of a sudden, Bo knew — she just knew — she couldn’t end it. She wouldn’t even try.
This man might well break her heart, but she was going to let him.
When Max’s hands at last stilled, he glanced towards her. He didn’t move, and nor did she. He just stared at her, and she stared back.
“I thought you were going to bed,” Max finally remarked, his voice calm. There was a soft sheen of sweat on him, and Bo had a ridiculous desire to lick it from his skin.
Without saying a word, Bo took a deep breath, her hands going to her shirt, pulling it quietly over her head. Max watched with an expressionless face, but something in his eyes stirred, and Bo took another deep breath, pulling down her jeans and then her underwear. She tugged at the hair tie in her hair, shaking it free and letting her hair flow over her shoulders. She stepped towards the piano again, positioning herself before Max, who shifted slightly to let her past. Folding her arms around Max’s neck, Bo sank into his lap, her legs wrapped around his waist so that they were locked together. Max said nothing, his face as calm as always, but she felt the response of his body as he settled her against him. It was awkward though. She’d thought having her hair free would be sexy, more alluring somehow, but instead it was in her face, and she paused, naked before him, debating on whether to move her hands so she couldbrush her hair away from her eyes. Max seemed to read her thoughts however, taking her face in his hands and using his long, beautiful fingers to caress the hair from her skin, tucking it softly behind her ear.
“I thought you were going to bed,” he said again, and there was a new, more seductive timbre to his voice.
“I was,” she replied, moving his hands from her face to her breasts. “But then I remembered something.”
